


Last Will and Testament

by Ignaz Wisdom (ignaz)



Category: Blades of Glory (2007)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-03
Updated: 2008-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:57:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignaz/pseuds/Ignaz%20Wisdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silly little gen ficlet for counterfeitcoin, because I was afraid of traumatizing her with full-blown Chazz/Jimmy slash.  Heh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Will and Testament

What Jimmy remembered happening after the medal ceremony in Montreal--well, the less said about that, the better. (Dear lord, what was _on_ that toilet paper he'd licked?) When he'd asked Chazz about it later, Chazz seemed to recall the same thing, but then Chazz had been on oxygen and painkillers and possibly Quaaludes again, and was even more delirious than his usual, so his memory of the two of them _flying_ out of the arena couldn't exactly be trusted, either.

Eventually he knew that they'd both ended up at the hospital, Chazz getting his broken ankle set in a cast while Jimmy stood by supportively, trying not to be too obvious about rubbing half a bottle of antibiotic gel into his hands. Katie had wanted to come with him, but the Mounties needed her to answer some questions about her brother and sister, so Jimmy faced the germs and the smell alone.

"I'm dying," Chazz rasped.

"You're not dying." Jimmy poured a glass of water from the plastic pitcher next to Chazz's bed.

"I can't see!"

"Your _eyes_ are closed."

Chazz opened one lid and peered out. He accepted the glass of water and then proceeded to spill it down the front of his shirt. "Jimmy," he groaned. He reached out, arm flailing a little, grasping for something. Jimmy took his hand and Chazz calmed. "If I don't make it ..."

"Chazz," Jimmy warned through clenched teeth.

"If I don't make it ... I want you to have the Verticoli."

Jimmy felt a lump form in his throat. "Chazz," he managed. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Chazz wheezed. "I love you, man. I just want you to know how much you mean to me ... before I go."

"Chazz, you're not dying," Jimmy reassured him.

"I _might_ be."

"You're not. You broke your ankle. You've been given a cast and painkillers and now you're fine. In fact, you should have been released an hour ago." Jimmy added this last part while glancing nervously at the doorway where a sour-faced nurse was tapping her foot.

"But if I _was_ dying, I would want you to have the Verticoli," Chazz sighed. Then he turned his head and mumbled something that Jimmy didn't quite catch.

"What?"

"What?" Chazz asked.

"What did you say?"

"When?"

"Just now, after you told me you'd want me to have the Verticoli if you were dying."

Chazz was silent.

"You said, 'and if I still had the Verticoli,' didn't you," Jimmy asked flatly.

Chazz sniffed.

"You lost the Verticoli, didn't you?"

"In the river," Chazz moaned.

Jimmy shook his head and then felt his hand clasped in Chazz's again.

"But if I _was_ dying, and if I _had_ the Verticoli, I'd want you to have it," Chazz said.

"Have another Percocet, Chazz," Jimmy answered.


End file.
